


Flee the Angels, Arms Outstretched

by anodyneer



Category: White Collar
Genre: Anaphylaxis, Cuddling & Snuggling, Future Fic, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:22:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anodyneer/pseuds/anodyneer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal's routine visit to the hospital - one made at Peter's insistence - suddenly becomes anything but routine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flee the Angels, Arms Outstretched

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kanarek13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanarek13/gifts).



> Written for [Kanarek13](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanarek13/pseuds/Kanarek13)'s birthday! A concentrated dose of whump, followed by a healthy bit of cuddling.

Peter shifted in the hard plastic chair and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes and trying to block out the vaguely nauseating antiseptic smells around him. He was just getting settled in to the darkness behind his eyelids when Neal’s voice cut through his attempt at solitude.

“Glad to see this whole thing is keeping you awake.”

“I’m just resting my eyes,” Peter said, cracking one of them just far enough to glance over at the figure in the hospital bed. “Shouldn’t you be doing the same?” Though he tried to sound nonchalant, Peter was still a little shaken.

After going to interview a bankruptcy fraud suspect and finding him not at home, the last thing they’d expected was for said suspect to try to turn Neal into a speed bump as they were leaving. Neal’s quick reflexes kept him from getting seriously injured, but the glancing hit from the car’s bumper sent him reeling, and he’d fallen hard enough against the raised curb to thoroughly knock the wind out of himself.

Neal hadn’t lost consciousness, and he’d sworn that he was fine (outside of some pain in his side and a bruised knee – and ego), but Peter insisted on having him checked out at the hospital anyway. He’d always been protective of Neal, but now that Neal had served his sentence and had embarked on a much more personal relationship with Peter, that protection had turned fierce. It was only Peter’s fear of scaring Neal away that allowed him to keep it from becoming downright stifling.

“Peter, I told you, I’m _fine_. I’ll need to ice the knee and take something for the pain in my side where I hit the curb, but I’m good otherwise. This is ridiculous.”

That got Peter’s attention, and he sat up, opening his eyes and fixing Neal with a reproachful glare. “Ridiculous? My concern about your well-being is ridiculous? Okay, sure. Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same if it’d happened to me instead.” He raised his eyebrows expectantly, and Neal sighed and looked away.

“Fine. You’re damn right I would’ve done the same thing. Satisfied?”

Peter ran his fingers through his hair and stood, stretching his shoulders and neck as he approached the bed. When Neal still wouldn’t look at him, Peter glanced around, frowning at the curtains that barely separated them from the rest of the ER before bending to give the younger man a quick kiss on the forehead.

“Look,” he said softly, laying a hand on one of Neal’s, his thumb drifting over Neal’s knuckles. “I’m sorry if this is embarrassing or humiliating or whatever you think it is, and I know you’re not crazy about hospitals, but I won’t apologize for being concerned about your health.” When Neal just closed his eyes, Peter shook his head and grumbled. “You can stop pouting anytime, Neal. You couldn’t breathe, for Christ’s sake. What if you have some kind of internal injury?”

Before Neal could reply, a new voice chimed in from behind them.

“Well, we’ll find out soon enough.”

Peter turned to see a man wearing light blue scrubs under a white lab coat standing just inside the curtain. He grabbed Neal’s chart from a pocket on the wall and glanced at it briefly, then looked from Peter to Neal.

“I’m Dr. Sandstedt, and you’re right,” he said, nodding in Peter’s direction before turning his attention to Neal. “Mr. Caffrey, the contusion on your knee should be fine with some ice and anti-inflammatories. I’m concerned about the pain on the upper left side of your abdomen. Are you still in pain?” As he asked, he pushed up Neal’s undershirt and started palpating his left side.

“Just – ah!” Neal flinched and glared at the doctor. “Right there.”

“When I pushed on it, what was your pain level on a scale of zero to ten, zero being pain free and ten being the worst pain you’ve ever experienced?”

“Four. Maybe five.” Neal’s jaw was clenched, and Peter could tell he was frustrated at having to answer some of the same questions he’d already answered for the nurse.

“And you haven’t been lightheaded? No blurred vision?”

“No.”

Unfazed by the shortness in Neal’s tone, the doctor made a few notes. “Okay, while it’s likely that you don’t have anything more than just a deep abdominal contusion, I’d like to get a CT scan to rule out any internal injuries, particularly to your spleen, given the location of the pain.” When Neal gaped at him, eyes wide, the doctor held up a placating hand. “If everything checks out, then you’ll be free to go.”

Neal looked to Peter, who nodded, struggling to keep the worry from showing on his face.

“Fine,” Neal said. “If it’ll make both of you happy, do whatever you have to do.”

Peter breathed a sigh of relief and rubbed at the tension in the back of his neck. He stayed out of the way while the doctor explained the procedure and got Neal to sign the consent forms. He left Neal with instructions to strip to his underwear and change into the gown at the foot of the bed, then pulled the curtains the rest of the way around and disappeared, giving them some privacy.

Neal gingerly pushed himself off the bed and slipped out of his shoes, then removed his pants, folding them neatly before handing them to Peter, who placed them on the extra chair with his jacket and dress shirt. He glanced down at his undershirt and seemed to be steeling himself for the pain of removing it.

“Here, let me help.” Peter walked around the bed to stand in front of Neal and gave him a long look before sliding his hands up under the bottom of the shirt, resting his palms flat on Neal’s muscular abdomen. He stepped in close, brushing his lips lightly over Neal’s before leaning in next to his ear. “I’m worried about you, okay? Just let them make sure there’s nothing wrong, and then I’ll take you home and wait on you hand and foot for the rest of the day.” When he backed away far enough to see Neal’s expression, the younger man was smiling softly at him.

“Just today?”

“Don’t push your luck. Lift your arms – slowly.” When Neal complied, Peter carefully pulled the shirt up over his head and clear of his arms before tossing it over on the chair. He helped Neal into the gown, pulling it closed and tying it at the back. When Neal was settled back on the bed, Peter sat down beside him and took his hand. “Well, it _is_ Friday. Maybe today and tomorrow, depending on how you’re feeling.”

Neal’s smile morphed into a grin, his first in hours, and Peter’s heart might have melted just a little bit. Before he could reply, though, the radiology nurse - whose name badge identified her as Nicole - arrived and shooed him out of the bed. She started an IV line in Neal’s arm where they’d eventually inject the contrast dye, then asked about allergies. Neal seemed in better spirits this time, answering the questions patiently, letting her know that he had no known allergies and had never been given dye in the past.

She talked him through the CT scan and dye injection, asked him about what he’d had to eat and drink that morning, and made a few other preparations until it was time to take him to the scan room.

“Okay, we’ll be back in a few minutes,” she told Peter, giving him a reassuring smile.

Peter nodded, then gave Neal’s hand a squeeze before letting it go. “I’ll be here, hanging out in my least-favorite chair.”

Neal snickered, then groaned in pain, though he still managed to flash Peter a sweet smile before being wheeled out.

Peter stepped out and watched them for a few seconds before making a quick trip to the restroom around the corner. When he returned, he left a voicemail update for Jones and settled in to wait. He’d almost managed to find a more comfortable position in the plastic chair when he heard a commotion down the hallway – in the direction of the CT scan room. He stood and stuck his head out the curtain in time to see Dr. Sandstedt rushing into the room.

His heart clenching, Peter jogged down the hallway and was nearly run over by a male nurse who was heading in the same direction.

“What’s going on?” Peter asked, touching him on the arm. “I’m with him. I’m Neal’s…partner. Is something wrong?”

“You shouldn’t be here, sir.” The nurse took Peter gently by the arm as if to keep him from entering the room. “We’ve got everything under control.”

Peter pulled his arm free and was just reaching for his badge when a reedy voice floated out to the hallway, distracting them both.

“Peter…”

Peter slipped past the nurse and dashed into the room – and into so much more commotion than he ever could have expected. Dr. Sandstedt, Nicole, and a few other medical personnel were crowded around Neal, who was sitting up on the scan table, a vomit-spattered basin on his lap. He was pulling frantically at the neck of his gown and gasping for air, and his face and neck were flushed and drenched in sweat.

“Neal, I’m here.” Peter tried to get to him, but the male nurse grabbed his arm again.

“Sir, please, you need to step outside. You shouldn’t be in here. Let them take care of him.”

Peter glared at him. “Yeah, looks like they’re doing a bang-up job of it so far.” He wrenched out of the other man’s grasp and turned his attention back to his lover. “Neal, it’s Peter. I’m right here.” He tried to stay out of the way, down by Neal’s feet, and gave his partner’s ankle a squeeze.

The doctor finally seemed to notice Peter’s presence. When the male nurse once again reached for the agent, Sandstedt waved him off. “He’s here now. Just let him stay. It’ll help if Mr. Caffrey can see a familiar face.” He turned his attention back to Neal, and Nicole handed him a syringe, then pushed up the gown and started wiping a spot on Neal’s thigh with an alcohol swab.

“What is that?” Peter asked, trying to keep the panic out of his voice – for Neal’s sake, he told himself. Neal was now starting to wheeze, his eyes squeezed shut, hair plastered to his forehead. “What’s happening to him?”

“He’s having an anaphylactic response to the contrast dye,” Dr. Sandstedt said, as calmly as if he was reading the menu at his favorite restaurant. He slid the needle into Neal’s thigh and pressed the plunger. “This is epinephrine. It’ll stop the reaction and give him some relief very shortly.” He removed the needle and disposed of the syringe, then gave Peter a confident nod before turning back to Neal. “Just breathe and try to relax, Mr. Caffrey.”

Neal’s eyes, wide and terrified, fixed on the doctor for a second or two before darting around the room. One of the nurses slipped an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, situating it carefully before removing the basin from his lap. Nicole arrived with a bag of fluids and quickly hooked it into Neal’s IV line, then coaxed him to lay back down on the table, his head resting on a pillow. 

Once the situation was under control, and the flurry of action surrounding Neal started to slow, Peter was finally able to get next to his head.

“I’m right here. You’re going to be okay.” He took one of Neal’s hands in his own, not caring who might be watching. “Breathe, Neal.”

Neal nodded and closed his eyes, his free hand pressed to his injured abdomen. The doctor leaned over Neal, moving his stethoscope over the younger man’s chest and listening closely. “He’s a little tachy, but his resps have improved quite a bit,” he said to Nicole before glancing at Peter, then at Neal. “How are you feeling?”

Neal’s eyes were now open, and he shook his head. “Heart’s…racing.” His shaky voice was distorted by the mask but still intelligible.

“That’s a normal response to the epinephrine. You may also feel some anxiety or even a bit of a headache. It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong or that you’re having another reaction. It’s just your body’s way of dealing with the adrenaline rush.”

Dr. Sandstedt’s confidence, so much like his own, was something Peter found immediately reassuring. His own pulse started to slow, and he forced himself to take deep, even breaths. When he looked back down at Neal, his partner was looking back at him, his eyes clouded with a heartbreaking uncertainty.

“It’s okay, Neal,” he whispered, his free hand moving to stroke Neal’s sweat-drenched hair away from his forehead. “Just take it easy.” He managed a smile that felt convincing enough, and it worked, as the corners of Neal’s mouth twitched up in response. It was such a relief to see that Peter actually chuckled, his shoulders slumping as the tension drained out of them. “Besides, I thought you liked the rush?”

Neal groaned, then huffed out something that vaguely resembled a laugh. “Base jumping…so much better than this.”

“I don’t know about that. You got to stay on the ground for this, and you were already at the hospital. Cutting out the middleman. Why am I not surprised?” Peter gazed fondly at him and, remembering that they was in a room full of people, had to fight the strong urge to lean down and kiss him.

Dr. Sandstedt waved one of the nurses over to check Neal’s blood pressure, and he seemed satisfied by the results. “Okay,” he said, looking back and forth from Neal to Peter. “We’re obviously going to have to admit you, Mr. Caffrey. Once your fluids are done and we’re sure you’re stable, we’ll go ahead and complete your CT scan, then get you settled in a room.” At Neal’s stricken expression, he held up a finger and shook his head. “It’s just for observation, and to make sure you don’t have a biphasic response – a recurrence of your symptoms. As long as you continue to respond to the treatment as well as you have so far and your scans come up clear, we should be able to discharge you in a few hours.”

Neal nodded but looked away, and Peter could tell he was biting at the inside of his cheek. He blinked a few times, and there was a hitch in his breathing that wasn’t from the earlier reaction.

“Hey, no, none of that.” Peter’s tightened his fingers around Neal’s and leaned down over him, his mouth next to Neal’s ear. “I know this got crazy pretty quickly, and I know you’re…scared.” It felt strange to say that to Neal, who was normally fearless to the point of being almost reckless. “They’ve got things under control, and we’ll be out of here before you know it. Just let them make sure you’re okay.”

Neal’s eyes finally met his, sparkling blue in a sea of tears that refused to be blinked away. His expression was equal parts grateful and apprehensive, and if he noticed how much Peter struggled to keep his tone convincing, he didn’t let on. He took a cleansing breath – his first that deep since Peter had arrived – and lifted the mask away from his mouth with a hand that trembled from more than just the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“Stay with me? Please?”

Peter nodded and gave him an easy smile. “I’m not going anywhere.” His voice dropped to a whisper, just loud enough to be heard over everything still going on around them. “I think they figured out that it’s pretty hard to get rid of me.”

“Stubborn…” Neal’s eyes were clearer now, calmed by the fact that Peter was going to be nearby. He put the mask back in place and sighed.

As Peter looked around him, taking in his surroundings for the first time, it started to hit him how close Neal had come to something much worse than a possible ruptured spleen. He quickly locked down the dread and squared his shoulders, knowing he couldn’t let Neal see his worry – or his guilt at having forced the man to come to the hospital in the first place.

With a sigh of his own, he gave Neal’s hand a reassuring squeeze and started mentally steeling himself for the hours ahead of them.

\-------------

“Now where are you going?” Neal’s voice floated down the hallway, and Peter smiled at how strong and healthy – how normal – he sounded. The Caffrey charm was back in full force, and he was doing everything he could to convince Peter to come to bed.

“I need to take your ice packs down and put them back in the freezer,” he called from the top of the stairs. “Sit tight for a minute.” The answering grumble made his grin widen, and he hurried down to take care of a few things before returning. He stopped in the bathroom to wash up and refill Neal’s water glass.

“Peter, come on. Those ice packs made me cold.”

“Will you stop whining,” Peter teased, setting the water on the nightstand before pushing back the covers and climbing into bed. Neal moved down and waited for Peter to sit back against the headboard, then slid up between his spread legs. He settled in, his back against Peter’s chest, and pulled the covers up to his stomach.

Peter wrapped his arms around Neal and let out a deep, contented sigh. After a long day at the hospital, Neal never relapsed, and his scans came up clear. He was discharged with instructions to ice his knee and abdomen and take it easy for a few days. Peter was told to watch him for any signs of another reaction, but the doctor was quick to assure him that he didn’t expect it to happen.

“How’s this?”

“Mmm. Much better.” Neal snuggled against him, his hands resting low on Peter’s thighs. “You put off a lot of body heat.”

Peter chuckled and planted a kiss below Neal’s ear. “You have a funny way of telling me I’m hot.”

“Well, yeah…that, too.” Neal leaned his head back and smiled as the light kisses progressed down his jawline. “So, exciting day, huh?”

“Never a dull moment with you.” Peter tried to keep his tone light, but the last thing he wanted to do while they were wrapped up together in bed was rehash the day’s unnerving events. Though Neal was fine, outside of a few bruises, the guilt Peter had felt earlier was still nagging at him. He nuzzled the back of Neal’s neck, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, the younger man’s shower-damp hair tickling his nose.

It shouldn’t have surprised him that Neal read the silence with his usual ease. “Peter, I’m fine. A little sore, but that’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” His voice softened, and he stroked his fingers absently up and down Peter’s leg. “I’m glad you took me in to get checked out, though.”

Peter sighed, face still buried in the nape of Neal’s neck, but said nothing. There was a hint of an ache creeping into his chest, and he pushed away a mental image of Neal struggling for air on the scan table. 

“Peter?”

“Shh. You need to get some rest.”

“I did that at the hospital.” Neal patted his knee. “Besides, you’ve been sulking all evening. We need to talk about this.”

Peter moved to lean his chin on Neal’s shoulder. “I haven’t been sulking, and the only thing we need to talk about is whether you’re warm enough and when you’ll need more painkillers.”

“You did the right thing, you know.”

“Look, I really don’t want to get into this right now. Can it keep until morning?”

“No, because it’s bothering you, and I don’t want this to eat at you all night,” Neal replied, pressing on in spite of the frustration in Peter’s voice – frustration that was masking a deep-seated fear of something Peter didn’t want to explore.

“Peter, if you’d listened to me and hadn’t taken me to the hospital, what would’ve happened if I’d actually ruptured my spleen or had some other internal injury?” When Peter said nothing, Neal answered for him. “I probably would’ve bled into my abdomen, been rushed to the hospital, had surgery, and I’d still be there.”

Peter swallowed hard, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Plus, now I know I’m allergic to contrast dye. It’s in my records, and I shouldn’t have to go through that again. And let’s face it, if I could pick somewhere to go into anaphylactic shock, I can’t think of anywhere better than a hospital.” He paused and leaned forward, craning his head around to see Peter’s face, waiting until the older man opened his eyes and looked at him. “If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t have known…and believe me, I’d rather know.”

As he mulled over what Neal had said, the logic of it started loosening the knot in Peter’s stomach. Everything he’d said was true; not only had it been a good idea to err on the side of caution with the possible internal injuries, but it was a relief to have the allergy in Neal’s medical file for future reference.

Neal wasn’t stuck in the hospital, recovering from surgery, and the quick treatment he’d received for the reaction kept him free of any complications. It could’ve been a lot worse, Peter had to admit, and he was finally able to smile.

When Neal saw it, he broke into a relieved grin. He slipped out of Peter’s arms and moved over to lay beside him, then carefully stretched up to kiss him. The feel of his lips against Peter’s, warm and a little rough, took care of any lingering doubts that Peter might have had. He returned the kiss, letting it deepen for a bit, tasting toothpaste and vitality and love.

It was Neal who ended the kiss, curling up against Peter’s side, his head on the agent’s chest. He let out a blissful hum, and Peter once again wrapped his arms around him.

“El should be home in a couple of hours.”

“Did you tell her what happened?”

Peter shrugged. “I told her we took you in to get checked out, and that you had a reaction to something they gave you, but that you’re fine now. Might’ve left out the part about the anaphylaxis and being admitted.”

“You didn’t.” When Peter shrugged again, Neal burst out laughing. It felt good, reverberating through Peter’s body, and his smile widened.

“I’ll tell her sometime. Not tonight, though.” The truth was, though he was now at peace with what happened, Peter still didn’t want to relive it just yet.

Neal seemed to understand and nodded, bringing his hand up to lightly scratch at Peter’s chest through his t-shirt. When the younger man stifled a yawn, Peter nudged him with his foot.

“I think we’re both still a little worn out. Why don’t we try to get some sleep, and when El gets home, we can tell her more.”

“But not everything.”

“Not yet.”

Neal suddenly pushed himself up, wincing at the pain in his side. His blue eyes locked on Peter’s brown ones with an intensity that belied his weariness. “Peter, I love you. And…” He trailed off and planted a light kiss at one side of Peter’s mouth, then the other. He didn’t need to finish the sentence; Peter could see the deep gratitude in his eyes. 

“Yeah,” Peter said, his voice soft, affectionate. “I love you, too.” He tugged Neal back down to lay at his side, and Neal pressed against him, an arm wrapped over Peter’s stomach. Peter waited until he heard Neal’s breathing start to even out before whispering a last thought. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Neal stirred and let out a light, questioning grunt but didn’t wake. Peter smiled down at him, running his fingers through the soft hair at the top of Neal’s head, the roots still vaguely damp. He breathed deeply, relieved that the shower had washed away the traces of hospital smells that had lingered on Neal. He smelled safe, and healthy, and alive.

 _Alive_.

It was that thought which finally carried Peter into a deep, peaceful sleep.

***


End file.
